A Prize Worth Fighting For
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Or at least that's Napoleon's opinion, if not the rest of the rescue team.  Warning:  Slash, so adults only please!


The humidity was so thick he could practically brush it aside with his hand. It was not the sort of night to wear dark clothes; it was not the sort of night to wear any clothes at all.

Napoleon Solo felt a trickle of sweat roll down his face and he resisted the urge to wipe it away. That would smear the black grease paint even more. Even the thin layer of make-up, designed to camouflage the planes of his face, felt oppressive.

His black turtleneck clung to him like a second skin and he wondered how Illya managed it_. Illya…_ Napoleon brought the binoculars up again and stared at the structure. It was low, easily hidden from view. That was how it had managed to avoid UNCLE's detection until now. It was how they had managed to keep Illya from him, but not anymore.

He remembered walking into their shared hotel room, seeing the note on the bed with a hastily cut clump of hair. There had been signs of a struggle, broken furniture, ripped bed linens, blood, too much blood for Napoleon's liking. It seemed as if days had crawled by before they finally picked up the homing signal. Napoleon didn't know why Illya had waited so long to trigger the device and that bothered him even more than Illya's capture.

Insects buzzed around his head, seeking any piece of skin they could find to bite or sting. What bits of him that weren't being abused by the bugs were scratched, bruised, or both. Napoleon didn't mind; it kept him focused on his goal, kept his mind from drifting into various 'what if' scenarios.

Napoleon's communicator beeped, making noise loud enough to wake the death. He snatched it from his pocket and opened it in one deft move.

"Team B is in place." Mark's voice was just a whisper.

"Then let's go get what belongs to us," Napoleon said, raising a hand and flicking it forward. Even so, they inched along slowly, cautious for traps. These jokers were playing for keeps and that didn't sit well with the brunet.

Every few moments Napoleon would see a bit of movement and freeze until he was sure it was one of his team. As they drew closer, they started closing ranks until they were one tight circle around the structure.

A blur to his left and a barely detectable bit of blue light told Napoleon that Agent Samson was cutting through the lock on the rear door. Napoleon only hoped that Mark and his team had been able to disable the alarms. He didn't want to give any hint of their presence until it was too late for the others to react.

The light faded away and they held still, waiting for any sort of response from within. Nothing. Napoleon raised a hand and the first wave continued onward. Again, they only moved a few feet, then stopped, moved, then stopped. It was maddening to Napoleon who just wanted to breach the walls and strike down anyone who stood between him and his partner.

He brought a hand to his chest and closed his eyes, seeking… something. His sixth sense told him Illya was inside and close. Napoleon allowed himself a small smile and moved into the building.

The floor was decorated with red x's - pressure plates – and the walls had arrows, circles and x's on them, looking more like a football play than notes from the first response team.

Napoleon slipped into the corridor, squatting to get his bearings before moving forward. There was a computer room down the hall to the left and a communications room across from it. Mark would be heading there. Napoleon was heading for the arsenal with his team.

They were close, so close, when suddenly an alarm went off. Instantly, Napoleon plastered himself against the wall.

"Take cover!" he shouted and slid down the wall. There was an exchange of gunfire and Napoleon felt a presence at his back. He glanced over his shoulder. Hutchings, a hotshot junior agent bucking for a promotion, squatted there. Napoleon got off a round and winced as a bullet 'chunked' into the wall too close to his head.

"Orders?"

Napoleon looked at him, brow furrowed. _What orders?_ He thought. Aloud, he said, "We get what we came for."

"All this for one agent? Isn't this overkill, even for us?"

"All this for my partner. If you have a problem with it, Agent, take it up with Mr. Waverly when we get back." Napoleon refocused his attention forward and let off another round.

"I will. I thought we were all expendable…"

"None of us are to my way of thinking and I'm running this affair. If we can get Illya out of here, we will."

"That's just…" Napoleon turned to see what Hutchings's problem was but it was too late. A gunman had targeted him from the ceiling. He dropped down and fired upwards, into the ceiling. The noise was deafening, especially in these close quarters, and the air was heavy with cordite.

Napoleon reloaded and started forward. This much protection meant that he was closing in on his goal. He wasn't going to lose now. He couldn't, not when it was Illya at stake.

A lucky shot and he took down one of the remaining gunmen, but not the last one. He got a bead on Napoleon and grinned. Napoleon sighed and raised his arms in surrender.

"Say good night, Solo." He raised his weapon, there was a blast and Napoleon convulsed for a moment before realizing he hadn't been shot. The gunman crumpled to reveal Mark standing there, wearing a grin.

"Fancy meeting you here." He touched his forehead in a brief salute.

"Perfect timing, Mark, thanks," Napoleon said, lowering his hands. "Now there's just one thing left to do. Let's rescue Illya."

They burst into the room and Illya glanced up from the cup of tea that he was sipping. He'd been stripped of his commando outfit, but still wore the black grease paint he'd been applying at his time of capture. His hair was in disarray and he had a bruise forming on one cheek

"Napoleon Solo!" April Dancer was not amused. "You weren't supposed to be able to find us." She set down her own cup and stood. "How did you get past my defenses?"

"Senior agent, remember? I was cooking this stuff up when you were still playing with baby dolls." He pointed his gun at her and smiled, nodding to Illya. "Partner."

"Took you long enough to track me." Illya set down the cup and carefully worked loose the edge of a latex appliance on his thigh. "Ouch," he muttered as he peeled the fake scar off. He held it up for April to see the small homing device embedded inside it.

"I don't believe this!" April was furious. "That's cheating!"

"That's winning and I believe a full surrender is in order." Napoleon gestured with the tip of his gun and April raised her hands.

"I still can't—" April trailed off as Mark entered the room. "You worm! You were on Napoleon's team?"

"I believe it's called exercise your options, my dear." Napoleon gestured to his fellow agent. "Mark, take our prisoner into custody and call home." He grinned over at Illya, dressed in just his underwear and shoes. "Let them know the prize has been recovered."

Napoleon hurriedly scrubbed the last bit of paint from his face, knowing that Illya was in bed and waiting for him.

He walked from the bathroom and stopped. Illya was sprawled out on the bed, eyes closed, one hand tracing lazy circles across his chest. There was a washcloth, towel, and tube of lube on the nightstand and Napoleon felt a stirring. Obviously there was going to be more than just rescuing going on tonight.

Napoleon dropped his robe and stood naked before his lover. "Got room in there for me?"

"Would I deny my rescuer?" Illya stopped and stretched, arching off the bed in what seemed to Napoleon an open invitation.

"I would certainly hope not." Napoleon settled beside him, fingers tender against a bruised cheekbone. "You didn't have to put up that much of a struggle, you know."

"Waverly told us to play it real." Illya captured the hand and lowered it to his belly. "When have you known me to go down without a fight?"

"Hmm, I will have to think about that."

"You're a mess though. Bug bites, scratches, all bruised up."

"As you said, Waverly wanted it real. I move that we change the games to cooler climes, though. The heat tonight was brutal."

"I would be very careful when you meet April next. She was very annoyed with you tonight."

"Remember how annoyed **you** were when we went up against each other?"

"I remember Mr. Waverly decided it was a pointless exercise to have the two of us oppose one another."

"Then in the honor of détente…" Mouth sought mouth and, for a few moments, there were no words, but still much was said with every shared breath and contented sigh.

Napoleon pushed off the bed and straddled Illya, capturing and pressing his hands into the mattress, interlacing their fingers. He dropped down for another kiss and found Illya's mouth open and inviting. Their tongues danced even as their passion grew.

Napoleon started to move, rubbing Illya's penis against his own genitals, smiling as firm flesh rubbed his perineum and massaged his testicles. This is how he liked it, totally in control.

The words barely had time to form in his head and he suddenly found himself being tossed aside. Napoleon flailed his arms, managing to keep from falling off the edge of the bed.

"As I said, when have you known me to go down without a fight?" There was a challenge in Illya's eyes and a grin on his lips. "Prepare to meet your Waterloo, Napoleon." Illya moved and Napoleon twisted, catching him.

"Do you know how old that joke is?"

"I don't know, how old are you?" Illya countered the move and again Napoleon was on the bottom.

"Funny guy, that's going to cost you."

"I hope so." Illya lowered himself to Napoleon's body, muscle against muscle, bone against bone as he thrust downward.

Napoleon spread his legs and used his feet to stroke Illya's calves even as his hands were cupping Illya's ass, pressing him even tighter against him.

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a Groucho Marx moment," Illya murmured, pausing in his worrying of Napoleon's left nipple.

"Pardon?"

"Any closer and I'll be behind you."

"Now that you mention it..." Napoleon released him and Illya left him just long enough to grab the lube. He held up a hand and squeezed a dollop onto two fingers, then caught Napoleon's gaze with a look of blue-eyed determination.

Napoleon flailed out a hand and grabbed a pillow, doubling it before stuffing it beneath the small of his back. He bent his knees and spread his legs wide. "Ready when you are, IK."

"I am far from ready, Napoleon. You know how I am about pre-planning. We mustn't rush into things unprepared." Mindful of his one lube-slick hand, Illya began to kiss and lick his way down Napoleon's leg from bent knee to thigh. Every few kisses, he would stop and rub his cheek against the soft skin of Napoleon's inner thigh.

After what felt like a thousand years, Napoleon felt warm breath upon the tip of his penis just for a second before a scalding hot tongue lapped. Cool air followed as Illya blew to dry the moisture he'd left behind. Napoleon moaned at the sensation, desperately wanting more, but also content to let this continue for a bit longer. Illya's tongue was clever at more than just spoken languages and now it told Napoleon just how he felt.

Finally Illya's mouth enveloped him and Napoleon felt the tip of Illya's broad index finger massaging his tight ring of anal muscle. He consciously tightened it even more, determined to feel ever inch of Illya's finger as it breached him.

When Illya added a second finger, Napoleon's hands, which had been clutching the sheets, moved to Illya's head and began to dictate the rhythm. When it seemed he couldn't stand a moment more, he dragged Illya's head up, brown eyes catching blue, the question, no, the plea unvocalized.

This was when Napoleon was happy that they didn't need words. Instantly Illya replaced fingers with his dick and slid in all at once. Napoleon tipped his head back, groaning as inch after delightful inch filled him. Just when he thought he would surely burst, the pressure eased, as Illya pulled out, then in again at a languid pace.

"More, faster," Napoleon ordered and Illya obliged, picking up the pace until he was slamming into Napoleon's body. His fingers gripped Napoleon's hips, digging in, desperate to keep a handhold as their bodies grew slick with sweat. Napoleon's hand found his own penis and matched Illya, thrust for thrust.

Napoleon could finally bear no more and his climax rocketed through him culminating in an impressive explosion. Semen oozed through his fingers as he made a half cry, half moan of completion.

Illya looked down from his position, pausing. He shook his head and sweat flicked off him. Then smiling, he lifted Napoleon's hand to his mouth and began to clean it even as he began to move again.

Napoleon thought the last climax would have been enough, but the sight and the feeling of Illya's tongue as it sucked and licked added more fire to his groin. He wrapped his other hand around his dick and they were off again.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's embrace, slick with sweat, and Napoleon couldn't think of anything he liked better. He could feel Illya's semen oozing from his body, making his thighs sticky. Eyes half closed, he remembered Illya's head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream as he'd finally climaxed into Napoleon's enthusiastic body. His own second climax still tingled along his nerve endings and with some satisfaction he noted that he was still partially erect as was Illya. Obviously, the night was far from over.

He smiled, suddenly tired. Illya was licking the sweat from Napoleon's neck, his lips and tongue gentle now, the lithe body already promising so much more pleasure to come.

Napoleon wove his fingers through Illya's damp hair and pulled his head back. "You are, you know."

"I am what?" Blue eyes flicked up to study him for a moment before the head shook free and Illya returned to licking Napoleon's throat.

"Worth fighting for." He smiled at the sensation of Illya's mouth on his Adam's apple. "Hutchings thought it was too much trouble to rescue you."

"Remind me to not assign him on any of my future rescue missions."

"He's probably still sleeping off the dart. He's lucky it was that and not a real bullet." Napoleon continued to brush Illya's hair back from his face. "So very worth the effort."

"I'm glad you think so. Next time you can be the captured agent and I'll be the white knight on his charging steed."

"How about I flip you for it?"

Illya sighed at that and reached out, his hand returning a moment later with a half-empty tube of lube. "I was hoping you'd get around to it before we had to catch our flight."

Napoleon moaned as deft fingers began working the slick ointment onto his penis and smiled happily to himself. _Definitely worth fighting for._


End file.
